The Marauder's Hallow
by Wojciechowski
Summary: A selective account of Sirius Black's years at Hogwarts (feat. Wolfstar)
1. Year One

Looking back as he lay in bed in the dormitory that night, Sirius Black could hardly believe how it all had happened; how, in the course of a day, he had disappointed his entire family, found he was not the least bit sorry for it, and, perhaps most astonishingly, managed to make two friends all on his own. The friend bit hadn't even been nearly as difficult as he had feared. Indeed, it had actually turned out to be quite enjoyable, and he was now eager to make more of them.

As for his family…he would just have to wait for the blow to fall. No doubt Bellatrix had already sent out countless owls with the scandalous news that Sirius had been sorted into Gryffindor, and it was only a matter of time before all the outrage descended upon him. And their ire would only double when they discovered he had made friends with a blood traitorous, mudblood-loving boy like James Potter. Somehow, though, the thought of his family's reaction only made him keener to be James' friend.

Sirius let his mind wander back to that morning on the Hogwarts Express.

 _"Hullo. Mind if I sit here?"_

 _"All right, then."_

 _"I'm James. James Potter. What's your name?"_

 _"I'm Sirius."_

 _"Never said you weren't, mate; you look right serious to me."_

 _"No, no no…Sirius is my name. Seriously."_

 _A snort of laughter and a shared grin._

 _"Sorry. Bet you've gotten that one a lot."_

 _"Not really, no. Honest! My—my family aren't really the joking sort, to tell you the truth."_

Then tiny, plump Peter Pettigrew had stumbled into their compartment, and with each passing moment, as tentative jokes quickly turned into raucous laughter, Sirius had begun to feel more at home here with these friendly, gleeful faces than he ever had at home. Here, among eager grins and hearty welcomes, among the first real friends he had ever made in his life, was where he belonged. He decided, then and there, that he would never give them up for anything. Never mind the strict austerity of his parents and their hostile pride. They could not hurt him here. He would not let them hurt him here.

/ / /

As days and, before he knew it, weeks passed, Sirius settled into his new life with relish. At last he was free to become his own person, judged for himself rather than defined by his bloodline. Everywhere he went he had James and Peter by his side. The three of them occupied their free time exploring every square inch of Hogwarts castle, playing very loud games of Exploding Snap in the common room (much to the exasperation of the older students), and generally tormenting their decided enemy, Severus Snape. James had singled out Severus as the object of his distaste from the very first, and it seemed that Severus had done the same with regard to James. The loathing between the two of them had sparked so immediately and absolutely it must have been chemical.

Of course Sirius and Peter were quick to stand by their friend, but Sirius also had his own personal reasons to despise _Snivellus_. Not only was Severus Snape simply an all around nasty person, he also reminded Sirius uncomfortably of himself. Or rather, he reminded Sirius of what he might have become had he never met James—had he played by the rulebook and allowed himself to be sorted into Slytherin. He could just see himself as the revolting little git Snape was: see himself living under his cousin Bellatrix's constant rule, hanging around her bunch of gutless slimeballs like Snape, delighting in anti-muggle humor like Snape, calling "mudblood" throughout the corridors like Snape, glorifying the Dark Arts like Snape. The thought of it made him sick, and he wanted to distance himself from such a life as much as possible.

Just as he had expected, Bellatrix had lost no time sending the news of Sirius' nonconformity to everyone she knew. Sirius received several letters from various disgusted relatives, and Bellatrix never failed to glower at him whenever they passed each other in the corridors, but as yet he had heard nothing from his parents. He supposed their disappointment was too great to put into words.

Even with these slight unpleasantries, though, Sirius was having the time of his life.

However, he had noticed that one of the other boys in his dormitory did not seem to be having so wonderful a time. Remus Lupin kept so much to himself that he was often difficult to find. For the most part everyone ignored him. In fact, Sirius wondered whether any of the other Gryffindors would even recognize Remus as their classmate, as he constantly had his face obscured behind some book or other. But Sirius did not ignore him; Sirius knew what he looked like. He knew how Remus' thin, pale face always managed to look peaky, how his eyebrows narrowed in concentration as he read, and how he always sat as though trying to take up as little space as possible.

He could not have said why he had taken such an interest in Remus: perhaps because he could relate to the feeling of being an outsider. Or maybe it just made him annoyingly sad to see someone sitting alone with a book while everyone else enjoyed themselves. Not that there was anything wrong with books. Books were perfectly fine, of course, but there was a time and a place for them—and that time and place was not _every bloody waking moment_. Either way, Sirius made up his mind that he would no longer permit the boy to sit by himself.

The first day Sirius decided to talk to Remus, he could not find him anywhere. It was evening, past curfew, and everyone was lounging about the common room as usual. James was helping Peter with his transfiguration homework, and Sirius, having just finished his own, sat back in his chair and panned the room lazily. He was not at all surprised when he could not spot Remus right away, but even upon closer examination his presence did not become apparent. Perhaps he had already gone up to bed, Sirius thought. But when the three of them finally returned to the dormitory themselves, Remus' four-poster stood unmistakably empty.

A feeling of unease crept over Sirius as he tried to sleep. Lupin was the very last person Sirius would have expected to roam school corridors by night. That meant that something was wrong. Was he ill?

Remus remained absent all through the next day too. No one else seemed to have noticed, but Sirius could not take his eyes off the empty desk in every subsequent class. By the end of that day, he had half a mind to go check the hospital wing—so he would at least know that Remus was still alive.

However, he was spared the trouble of doing so when, on the third day, a loud snore broke through the monotonous drone of their History of Magic lesson. Though no one in the classroom could count themselves among those who had never dozed off in one of Professor Binns' classes, most of them had had the sense to do so discreetly. Everyone's heads turned and Sirius, jerking out of a hazy stupor himself, swiveled around to see the hardly noticeable yet unmistakable form of Remus Lupin. He was sitting slumped over his desk, with his forehead resting on his roll of parchment and a fair bit of his fringe floating in his inkbottle. The girl to his right gave him a soft poke in the shoulder, and he sprang upright, looking stricken.

"Sorry," he breathed, mortified. A few people sniggered. Professor Binns resumed his lecture, and the room relapsed into lethargy.

As it was Friday, Sirius, James, and Peter celebrated the start of the weekend that night with their usual, excessively rowdy version of Exploding Snap. Determined not to let him disappear again, Sirius kept a sharp eye fixed on Remus, who had managed to land himself one of the best armchairs by the fireplace. When James scored his third win in a row and decided to circle the common room in a victory lap, Sirius went over to him.

Remus jumped. "Sorry, did you want this seat?" he exclaimed, frantically gathering up his books and parchment.

"No! No, I just—I don't think we've met properly, that's all," Sirius stammered, taken slightly aback by this strange greeting. "I'm Sirius Black." He extended a hand.

Slowly Remus took it. "Remus Lupin," he muttered suspiciously, as though afraid that this was some kind of joke.

"Er… d'you want to come join us? We've been playing Exploding Snap."

By this time James and Peter had ambled over to see what Sirius was up to.

"I've—never played before." Remus shrugged his shoulders sheepishly.

James' mouth fell open in horror. "You've never—you've _never played_ Exploding Snap?" He was beside himself. "It's only the best game in existence! Apart from Quidditch, of course, but that's entirely different—it's not too difficult really, though there is a certain element of skill to it—come on, come _on_ , I'll hand you a deal—I mean, reel you a—cards—I mean—" losing the ability of coherence, he abandoned words and dragged Remus manually from his chair.

As it turned out, Remus was a quick learner. He caught on to the game almost immediately, and soon gave even James a run for his galleons. Up close Sirius could see that Remus looked exhausted. His face seemed even paler than usual, with dark rings below his eyes. Sirius even noticed a few scars etched across his cheek. By the end of the night, however, Remus was positively glowing.


	2. Summer

Having decided to remain at Hogwarts over Christmas, Sirius neither saw nor received word from his parents and his younger brother until the summer holidays. All year he had been living in a state of blind exuberance, so caught up in his newfound joy that the impending doom waiting for him at home had hardly crossed his mind. But now, as the Hogwarts Express pulled into King's Cross station, he felt as though he were a balloon that had been punctured.

He tried to keep on a happy face in front of his friends, desperate not to spoil their last moments together, but James caught him staring glumly out of the window when he thought none of them were looking.

"Hey. You all right, mate?"

Sirius started. "Fine," he muttered.

James continued to stare at him, unconvinced. "What's the matter?"

Sirius shrugged and looked down at his shoes.

"Come on, spit it out," Remus said briskly, fixing him with a sharp gaze. "It's your family, isn't it? You've hardly talked about them. You never get any owls from them. You're obviously not looking forward to going back home, are you?"

It was as if Remus had read his mind. Though they had known each other for nearly a year, Remus' powers of perception still took Sirius by surprise. Sirius looked at him for a moment. Then, slowly, he nodded.

"Ah…rough luck, that," said James, "but hey: it's only a couple of months before we're all back here again."

"We'll write you loads," Remus promised. The others nodded their heads earnestly.

"As often as humanly possible," James agreed.

"And we'll send you sweets," Peter chimed in.

Sirius could not help but smile. Perhaps the summer would not be so bad. It was only two months, after all. And with James', Remus', and Peter's letters to look forward to, he felt he might just be able to survive it.

The train jolted to a halt. In a flurry of activity, everyone began to gather up their belongings and set off to find their families. Looking out of the compartment window, Sirius caught sight of his father standing, rigid and severe, upon the platform. He took as long as possible to unload his luggage, bid goodbye to his friends, and watch them run off to greet their own respective families, before dully mustering up his resolve.

When Sirius reached his father, Orion Black nodded curtly to acknowledge his presence, then turned on his heel and set off, without a word, back toward the Muggle world. With one last glance around the platform and one last wave toward James and his parents, Sirius followed.

The Black family home at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, was only a few minutes' walk from King's Cross, but it seemed to take hours. Orion kept a commanding hand upon Sirius' shoulder as they walked, as though afraid he might wander off in the wrong direction, or, rather, as though daring him to try and run away. Neither of them spoke. At last Number Twelve loomed into view from around the corner, its dark brick glowering dully at them in the sunlight. It looked exactly as it had when Sirius had left it nine months ago.

The same was also true inside. House-elf heads lined the hall, as they always had. The same portraits shifted and muttered to each other as they passed, and the same slightly musty smell rose from the carpets. As soon as the front door thudded shut behind them, Sirius broke free of his father's company and plodded with his trunk up the stairs to his room. He bolted his bedroom door with a sigh.

Looking around, his heart sank horribly. He had never before realized just how miserable this dank old room was. His eyes travelled over the austere furniture, the cold silver walls and dark floorboards, the Black family crest staring authoritatively down from the cornices, and he thought of Gryffindor Tower, with its crackling fires, cozy armchairs, and scarlet drapes. It was no good; he would have to do something about it. As he opened his trunk a sharp knock rattled the door, and he heard his father's voice for the first time since returning from Hogwarts.

"Your mother would like a word. In the drawing room. Now."

Sirius suppressed a groan. He had known he would have to face her at some point. Well: best to get it over with quickly, he supposed.

Down in the drawing room, Sirius' mother reclined pointedly in an armchair before the tapestry of the Black family tree. When Sirius entered the room, she did not ignore him as his father had done, but turned her head leisurely on the spot and met his eyes with a piercing gaze.

"Sirius Black," she said, enunciating each syllable as though tasting a fine wine. "Come and kiss your mother hello."

Obediently Sirius shuffled forward, kissed her briefly upon the cheek, and backed away again.

"Sirius Black," she repeated. "You are named after two of our family's forefathers."

Sirius nodded stiffly. He had heard this speech many times before.

"You are the heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black."

Sirius nodded again.

" _Toujours Pur_. Do you know what it means?"

"Yes."

"What does it mean?"

"Always pure."

"That's right. The house of Black must always remain pure, as it has remained for centuries, uncontaminated by the filth of Muggle blood and untainted by the ideas of their sympathizers. As the heir to this house, and this name, it is your duty to preserve our purity for times to come. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Good."

There was a note of finality in her voice that Sirius interpreted as an indication for him to leave, but before he could reach the door his mother spoke again.

"You've disappointed me, Sirius," she said softly.

Sirius froze without looking back at her, humiliation boiling in his stomach at the feeling of utter helplessness that consumed him whenever he was in her presence, at the absolute control she never failed to exert over him. He wanted to turn around, fix his mother with a fiery glare, throw his shoulders back, and yell that he was proud of where the Sorting Hat had placed him, proud of his friends, proud to stand in solidarity with muggle-borns, and proud to forego his responsibility to his family. But he could not bring himself to do any of these things, and he felt he was a disgrace to the house of Gryffindor.

"We have given you all that you have," his mother continued. "We have given you everything, and we intend to leave you everything. Do not give us cause to regret these gifts. You did not ask, I am sure, to be sorted into Gryffindor, but it is nevertheless a first step toward much more dangerous places. Take care you do not forget where you come from. Yes?"

"Yes," Sirius breathed, as everything inside him screamed ' _NO!'_

"Very well."

Before she could say anything more, Sirius left the drawing room and rushed back upstairs. In a rage of frustration, he flung open the heavy velvet curtains over his bedroom window so that sunlight spilled across the floor. He gazed up at the sky with the irrational hope that he might catch sight of an owl approaching, bearing word from one of his friends, but there was nothing except for one of those odd Muggle flying contraptions—what were they called? Eraplains? They were funny things, to be sure, but somehow they always looked so peaceful as they glided through the air in graceful arcs. Sirius watched it for a minute, and then set to the task of making his room livable for the summer.

First he ripped down the dark green hangings around his bed and stuffed them unceremoniously in the back of his wardrobe. Then he disemboweled the contents of his trunk, taking especial pleasure in strewing his belongings all about the floor before putting them away. The final touch saw two small Gryffindor Quidditch banners hanging from the bedposts, and Sirius stepped back to admire his handiwork. Not ideal, of course; not Gryffindor Tower; but it would do for now.

A small shuffling noise from behind made Sirius wheel around, and he found a pair of wide eyes gazing inquisitively up at him from the doorway.

"What do you want?" he asked his younger brother, perhaps rather rougher than the boy deserved. Regulus hurriedly glanced around to ensure they were alone, and then whispered, "What's it like?"

"What do you mean?"

"Hogwarts! What's it like?"

Sirius shrugged. "It's great. Much better than here, anyway," he added glumly.

"Is it scary when they sort you?"

"Only a little bit; at first. But it doesn't take too long once you're up there."

"Why are you in Gryffindor?"

For a moment Sirius debated what to tell his brother, but in the end he decided upon the truth. "Because I asked to be in Gryffindor."

"You can ask?"

"Yeah. I guess so."

"Why?"

"I don't know." Sirius was unsure whether Regulus was asking why it was possible to ask for a specific house or why he, Sirius, had asked to be in Gryffindor, but did not bother to find out. There was a slight pause. Then Regulus asked, "Is it true the Mudbloods stink?"

Something snapped in Sirius. Without answering, he strode to the door, slammed it in Regulus' face, bolted it, and began to pace around his room, fuming. Sirius knew that Regulus had no idea what he had done wrong, that he had only asked it because he had heard the words so often from their parents and did not understand what they meant. Sirius knew that he himself had wondered exactly the same thing at Regulus' age, having no idea what "Mudbloods" were or, never having met one, whether or not they actually stank. But this was why he could no longer bring himself to face Regulus: his younger brother reminded him all too much of his own former, loathsome self, who was someone Sirius had hoped never to meet again.

The one driving force that brought Sirius through the summer holidays was that his friends stayed true to their word. Over the course of his third day back at Grimmauld Place, three owls arrived at his window, and the barrage hardly let up all summer. James never went a week without writing, filling his letters with amusing anecdotes, words of encouragement, random facts, and bad puns. Peter wrote least often of the bunch, but as he usually sent boxes of sweets along with his short, poorly written letters Sirius did not begrudge him this.

To Sirius' surprise, it was Remus who wrote most frequently of all. Given Remus' quiet, unimposing disposition in person, Sirius had assumed that Remus would conduct himself similarly in print. From his very first letter, however, Sirius realized how wrong he was. Ink on parchment seemed to be Remus Lupin's inborn medium. His handwriting was small and cramped, often doing away with margins entirely so as to fit as much as possible on a page, and he wrote seemingly everything that popped into his head, from minute observations to world events. Indeed, Sirius learned more by far about Remus through letters over the summer than he had all year at Hogwarts.

These letters were his only reprieve from the stifling confines of Grimmauld Place—from his mother's orders that he remove his Gryffindor banners and return the green drapes to his bed, from the house-elf Kreacher's insolent remarks and Regulus' unintentionally foul, lingering presence—but they were enough. Sirius survived the summer.


	3. Year Two

At last the first of September rolled into view, and with it the Hogwarts Express. Since July, Sirius had counted down each hour to the moment when he would return to Hogwarts, and his nerves of anticipation had lingered just shy of their breaking point all throughout August. He could have skipped all the way to King's Cross station, if he had not been weighted down by his trunk. Indeed, he felt so lighthearted that he did not even mind his mother's offer of a thinly veiled threat in lieu of a farewell.

Upon catching sight of James, Sirius roared with delight and dashed across Platform Nine and Three-Quarters to greet him, leaving his father behind without a second glance. They shouted and laughed, danced and hopped and marveled at the fact that Sirius was now two inches taller than James. Before long Peter Pettigrew had joined the fray as well. Sirius looked around for Remus and jumped to see him standing a mere four feet away, looking over at the group shyly, as if unsure whether he was still welcome among them. When Sirius caught his eye he grinned uncertainly, and Sirius pulled him into a hug.

On the train, the foursome celebrated their reunion with their signature game of Exploding Snap. They admired James' new broomstick, jeered as Severus Snape passed their compartment with a red-haired girl Sirius was sure belonged in Gryffindor, exclaimed incredulously when they discovered that Remus had written longer letters to Sirius than to either of the others (to which Remus merely turned a delicate shade of pink and feigned deafness), and ate sweets until they felt near to bursting. As the sky outside began to darken Remus left their compartment to ask the conductor when they would be arriving.

"Be quick about it!" James called after him.

Evidently, however, Remus did not hear him, for he did not return quickly. In fact, he did not return at all for the remainder of the journey, and he was nowhere to be found on the platform when they disembarked in Hogsmeade.

"D'you think he's all right?" asked James uneasily, as the three of them trundled along in one of the horseless carriages that would take them up to the school.

"No," Sirius and Peter answered immediately. Whatever had happened to Remus, he most certainly was not all right. And what worried Sirius perhaps even more than Remus' absence was the fact that he had so obviously and so easily lied to them. For whatever reason he had left their compartment, it had not been to ask the conductor when they would arrive. Why did Remus think he could not trust his friends?

The funny thing was, even last year Remus had developed a habit of disappearing without notice. It had been one of his more infuriating qualities—one of his only infuriating qualities, to be sure, but infuriating nonetheless. Every so often, he would simply disappear from their dormitory, from the common room and from his classes, and then turn up again just as suddenly a couple days later, claiming to have been off visiting his ailing mother. However, Remus' friends could not help noticing that he always seemed rather off-color himself whenever he returned. Perhaps his mother's illness was slightly contagious—or perhaps he was hiding something.

"Did either of you think he looked a bit . . . odd?" James asked.

Peter merely shrugged.

In his current state of anxiety Sirius was in no mood to talk, but he nevertheless realized that James did have a point. Now that he thought about it, Remus _had_ seemed a bit out of sorts. Though Remus had greeted them all warmly enough, and played Exploding Snap with due enthusiasm, Sirius also remembered his pallid complexion and his darkened, bloodshot eyes. How could Sirius have been so stupid, to have seen it and not said anything? Just as he opened his mouth to respond to James, however, the carriage rounded a corner, and despite their worries there was a collective intake of breath as Hogwarts Castle loomed magnificently into view across the lake, bathed in the brilliant light of a full moon.

"Where the bloody hell have you been?" James demanded, as Remus rejoined them at last during lunch on the second day of term.

"We thought you'd fallen off the train and died!" Sirius yelled. "Next time you decide to run out on us, at least leave a note, why don't you? We were about to go searching the moors for your corpse!"

Remus looked miserable, unwell and exhausted. If Sirius had not been so frustrated with him, he would have hexed anyone who dared to shout at Remus in such a condition. As it was, Remus had left him worried for two days, and Sirius wanted to ensure that it would never happen again.

"Sorry," said Remus meekly. "I—wasn't feeling well . . . took ill when I was walking down the train . . . Madam Pomfrey . . . wouldn't let me leave until . . ." his voice trailed off, and he began shoveling food into his mouth as an excuse to stop talking.

/ / /

Once September had receded into October, Remus vanished again. This time, however, his friends were determined to uncover the truth. First they scoured the castle, checking each of Remus' favorite haunts to ensure that he really had gone. They then headed up to the Hospital Wing, which was locked. Unfazed, James let them in using a handy unlocking spell he had read about over the summer, and they entered cautiously under cover of an Invisibility Cloak that had once belonged to James' father. However, they found the wing entirely deserted, apart from a lone Hufflepuff who had suffered a Venomous Tentacula bite a few days previously. Even Madam Pomfrey was absent from her office.

Sirius, James, and Peter expended every resource they could dream up, even going so far as to spout a stream of random words at the gargoyle guarding the headmaster's office, in a desperate attempt to reach Dumbledore—all to no avail. Everything ran into a dead end. Ultimately they were forced to admit defeat and return to the common room.

"It doesn't make any sense!" James burst out.

"I know," Sirius grumbled, his face in his hands.

"There has to be something we've missed."

"But _what_? We've been through it all a million times."

"Last year he kept saying he had to visit his mother—"

"But always looked like _he_ was the one who had been ill—"

"He looked ill on the train last month—"

"And he looked ill this morning—"

"But he's not in the hospital wing."

"He's not anywhere, as far as the teachers are concerned."

"And he doesn't want us to know . . ." All of a sudden James clapped a hand to his forehead. " _Of course_!"

"What?" Sirius yelped, startled.

Without answering, James sprang to his feet and bolted to a window.

"What?" Sirius repeated, as he followed James across the common room. The expression on James' face made him uneasy.

Again James did not speak, but answered by pointing grimly out the window. Sirius followed his index finger out across the dark grounds, over the Forbidden Forest, and to a bright full moon shining just beyond the shadowy silhouettes of the tallest trees. Sirius gasped. Realization hit him like a bolt of lightning. _Of course!_

"I don't get it," said Peter flatly.

Ignoring Peter, James turned to Sirius, looking stunned. "I don't know why we didn't realize it last year. That he _always_ disappeared—"

"At the full moon," Sirius finished. "It explains everything: the scars—"

"—why he seemed ill—"

"—why he lied to us."

"But what's the moon got to do with anything?" Peter asked, bewildered.

"Honestly, how thick can you get, Peter?" James snapped. Clearly agitated, he glanced around the room to ensure that no one else was near, and then lowered his voice. "What happens to . . . certain people . . . every month, at the full moon?"

"I don't—"

" _Lycanthropy_ , Peter."

"Lyca—what?"

"Lycanthropy!" James' eyes flared angrily. "He's a werewolf."

Peter gave a terrified squeak. "But—but what should we do?"

"What do you mean, what should we _do_?" Sirius retorted.

"Well—he does have a point, Sirius," James conceded grudgingly. "I mean, you know what they say . . . lycanthropes are dangerous . . ."

"Do you hear yourselves?" Sirius cried, incredulous at his friends' newfound reservations about Remus. Having already renounced the biases of his parents, Sirius perhaps found it easier than Peter or James to reject other Wizard prejudices. "This is _Remus_ you're talking about. Remus! The little bookworm who didn't know how to play Exploding Snap! And all of a sudden you think he's out to rip your head off?"

Sirius' words were having a visible effect on James. He seemed to shrink where he stood, and his face reddened at his own shallowness.

"What is it you're suggesting we should _do_ —abandon him now?"

"I—no! Of course not, that's not what I meant," James promised hastily. "I know it's rubbish to think that of Remus, it's just—blimey . . . A werewolf."

When they returned to their dormitory, Sirius could not sleep. Again and again his eyes were drawn to Remus' empty four-poster next to his own, consumed by the thought that somewhere out there, on the grounds or in the forest at that very moment, his friend had transformed into a monster. Turning over so as to block it from his mind, he saw that James also lay awake in the bed to his other side. When their eyes met, James whispered, "But maybe we're wrong. You know?" There was a note of pleading in his voice. "It could be something else entirely. We could be wrong. Right?"

Though he did secretly share James' desperate hope that their conclusion was incorrect, Sirius knew that indulging in denial would not change the truth.

"We're not wrong."

/ / /

Having decided to afford Remus the honesty he had never granted them, Sirius, James, and Peter cornered him as soon as the opportunity arose.

"Er—Remus?"

"Hm?" Remus took out a roll of parchment and started rifling through _Magical Drafts and Potions_ in an effort to make up for the homework he had missed.

"How's it going, mate?"

"Fantastic." Remus' sarcasm was halfhearted, and his shadowed eyes narrowed in suspicion without rising from his book.

"We—ah—were thinking the other night."

"Were you." Still Remus did not look up from his book.

"And we rather surmised you might have a bit of lycanthropy."

Remus dropped his book, but his face remained impassive. He forced a weary laugh as he stooped to pick it up. "That's the most ridiculous rubbish I've ever heard. And coming from you lot, that's saying something."

"You can be honest with us, you know."

"I have been honest with you." His hands were shaking. "Hand me that quill, will you, Sirius?"

Remus was good. However they tried to badger, prize, or trick it out of him over the next month, he never failed to put them off, masterfully steering them away from the subject. When the full moon drew near again, Sirius and James resolved to end this game of Blind-Wizard's Buff once and for all (Peter had told them in no uncertain terms that he would not be accompanying them).

As soon as Remus left them, under the pretense of dashing a book back to the library, James pulled his Invisibility Cloak out of his bag and threw it over himself and Sirius. Together they followed Remus down corridor after corridor, as he glanced left and right to ensure that he was alone and then turned, not toward the library, but toward the Hospital Wing. Just outside it he met Madam Pomfrey, who greeted him cordially before locking the door with a flick of her wand.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

Remus shrugged and muttered something they could not hear.

"Here," said Madam Pomfrey, taking a small dose of potion from her robes. "This should help a little, at least until the sun sets."

Remus took it, and they set off through the castle, with James and Sirius trotting along silently in their wake: down to the Entrance Hall, out the oak front doors, and across the grounds to the formidable-looking Whomping Willow, whose branches swayed threateningly as they approached. Using a levitation charm, Madam Pomfrey directed a stone to touch a knot on the tree's trunk. Immediately the willow froze, allowing her and Remus to disappear through a gap between its roots.

Before Sirius and James could reach it to follow them, however, the tree sprang to life again. A thick branch swung around and knocked them to the ground. Blinking back stars, Sirius scrambled to his feet, and James dragged him out of harm's way as another branch hurtled towards them. Time and again they tried to magically hurl rocks and sticks against the tree trunk, but neither could aim precisely enough to hit the knot upon its bark. Eventually, however, Madam Pomfrey reemerged from the gap between the roots, and when she pressed the knot to ensure her own safe departure, Sirius and James raced down into the passage.

It led to a long, low-ceilinged, earthy tunnel, but the pair did not stop to marvel at its existence; they needed to find Remus. They ran for what felt like hours, counted out by the ever-quickened beating of Sirius' heart. Then, at last, the tunnel began to slope upward. As its ascent leveled off, they found themselves in what appeared to be a dismantled drawing room—and there was Remus, settled into a shabby chair with his head resting against a boarded up window.

He wiped his eyes and shifted slightly, his face a pale green. Sirius had never seen Remus looking so terrible, and he did not like it at all. Had he and James not agreed to remain under the cloak and never reveal themselves, he would have been at Remus' side in an instant. To stand such a distance away, watching coldly, unable to do anything while Remus suffered, was agonizing.

Remus' breathing became irregular, and he screwed up his face against the pain. Then he began to tremble from head to foot, and Sirius could stand it no longer. Before James could stop him, he had bolted out from under the Invisibility Cloak.

"Remus."

Remus jumped, looking around wildly. When he saw Sirius, his eyes widened in horror and despair. "Sirius," he breathed, "no . . . get away . . ."

"It's okay! Remus, we know that—"

"You need to leave." In a panic, Remus leapt out of the chair and started throwing pieces of furniture in front of himself, trying to form some sort of barricade between himself and Sirius. "Please . . ." he wailed, "Sirius . . . I don't want to hurt you."

"But—"

" _Get out of here!_ "

James began tugging at Sirius' sleeve from behind. "Sirius. We need to go."

But Sirius ignored him. Instinctively he started toward Remus again, who had gone rigid just beyond the pile of furniture.

"GET OUT!" Remus screamed. His limbs began to shake violently. In one last, great effort, he stumbled away from Sirius, down a hallway leading off the drawing room, and halfway up a flight of stairs before collapsing in a cry of pain. Claws burst from the ends of his fingers. Fur sprouted down his neck and arms, and his face elongated into a snout.

"SIRIUS, GET BACK HERE!" James bellowed.

At the noise, Remus' head snapped around to glare at Sirius through eyes that were not his own, and in that moment Sirius jolted to his senses. James grabbed his arm, pulling him backward, and they hurtled back down through the tunnel. Once they had burst out into the fresh air and were well beyond hitting range of the Whomping Willow, James yanked the cloak off, and they both fell, gasping for breath, onto the grass.

"Are—you— _mental_?" James panted. "Bloody hell, Sirius . . . I know it's Remus, but you can't just lose your head and try to chase a _werewolf_. Or you will literally. Lose. Your. Head."

Sirius did not respond. Night had fallen completely. Above them the full moon hung low in the sky, reflecting off the glassy lake. In the distance, a wolf howled. After a while they threw the Invisibility Cloak back over themselves and returned to their dormitory.

Sirius slept only fretfully. He felt numb. The image of Remus' agonizing transformation seemed burned into his brain, torturing his waking moments and haunting his dreams.

At last dawn broke, and Remus still occupied Sirius' thoughts. The same image still consumed him, the same numbness, and he found himself unable to swallow a bite when he went down to breakfast with James and Peter.

"It's not like starving yourself is going to make _him_ feel better," Peter reasoned, as he stuffed a boiled egg into his mouth.

"I want to go see him," said Sirius. "Let's go see him."

James frowned into his plate, his brow furrowed. "Not that I don't care about Remus—I want to go see him as much as you do—and not that I don't disdain punctuality . . . but we have Potions in fifteen minutes! And Slughorn did say he'd give us detention if we didn't hand in his essay today, and that'll be on top of the detentions we've already got from McGonagall and Flitwick . . . we keep this up, and we'll have spent more time in detention than out . . ." His voice trailed away beneath Sirius' quelling look.

"Fine," Sirius said. "Go to Potions then, if it matters so much to you. _I_ don't care about detention; as we've already had so many I doubt one more will make much difference. I'm going down to see Remus."

With that, he rose from the table and set off along the Great Hall. A couple of exasperated groans issued from behind, but he did not look back. When he stepped outside into the chilly November air, he broke into a run. He did not even try to press the paralyzing knot on the Willow's trunk, but dodged its flailing branches as well as he could, and plunged headlong into the gap between its roots.

The room at the end of the passage was in even more disarray than when Sirius had left it the night before. The barricade of furniture had been strewn across the floor; several chairs were broken, and lay in scattered pieces. He found Remus upstairs, returned to his human form, curled up on a large four-poster bed and sobbing uncontrollably. A sizable block of chocolate lay on the table to his left, evidently left there by Madam Pomfrey earlier that morning. It had not been touched.

Apparently consumed by his own anguish, Remus had not noticed Sirius enter the room. Sirius broke off a chunk of the chocolate and knelt beside the bed, offering it to Remus.

"You look like you need some of this."

Remus lifted his head, looking stricken. "I'm s-sorry!" he gasped. "I should have known you'd f-figure it out eventually, but I k-kept telling myself that if I just put you off long enough you'd give it up, and I never thought—never wanted—that—you—" For a moment he struggled, trying to contain his emotion, but ultimately he gave up and crumpled back onto the bed in a fresh wave of misery.

"Well, of course we'd figure it out! We're not stupid," Sirius replied. He wished more than anything that Remus would stop crying. He could see no reason for such a display. Neither he nor James had been hurt during last night's escapade—on top of that, it was hurting Sirius to see Remus so distraught. He would have thrown himself off the Astronomy Tower if only it would have made Remus smile.

"Here, eat this at least." Sirius made to shove the piece of chocolate into Remus' hand, but accidentally ended up slipping his own hand into it as well. As he did so he noticed the blood trickling from several cuts on Remus' forearm. "Can't Madam Pomfrey mend those?" he asked.

"No," Remus mumbled. "There's no cure for werewolf scratches. There's nothing she can do."

There was a pause. Then Remus' exhausted, tearstained face looked up at Sirius in bewilderment.

"I don't understand."

"What d'you mean?" asked Sirius, hastily removing his hand and leaving only the chocolate in Remus'.

"I—just—why are you still here?"

Now it was Sirius' turn to look bewildered. "Why wouldn't I be here?"

"You—you're still going to be my friend?"

"DON'T BE RIDICULOUS, OF COURSE I'M STILL GOING TO BE YOUR FRIEND!" Sirius exploded, startling Remus so much he nearly stopped crying.

"Yeah, exactly how stupid do you think we are?" came an indignant voice from the doorway.

Spinning around, Sirius saw James and Peter standing there, both slightly out of breath, Peter clutching at a stitch in his side.

"Aren't you supposed to be in Potions?" Sirius asked sardonically.

"Well," said James, shrugging, "we figured, one detention more or less—what does it matter?"

Sirius beamed at him.

James went on. "Shall we tell him now, then?"

"Definitely."

"Tell me what?" Intrigued in spite of himself, Remus sat up a little, wiped his eyes, and began nibbling absentmindedly on the chocolate Sirius had given him.

"You may have noticed that we've been spending a bit more time than usual in the library lately."

"You see, we've been doing some research this month," Sirius explained.

"Ever since we found out about your—ah—furry little problem," James added.

"We wanted to see if there was some way we could manage to break a few more school rules—"

"Not to mention some Ministry regulations—"

"And make your monthly transformations a little more enjoyable for all of us."

"From what we've been able to work out, werewolves are only dangerous to humans."

"We haven't been able to find any instances of a werewolf hunting, attacking, or behaving aggressively toward animals."

"So . . ."

"The three of us have decided to become Animagi."

The last word rang throughout the little house in the stunned silence that followed. In utter shock, Remus seemed to have forgotten how to breathe. He opened and closed his mouth several times, looking from Sirius to James and back again. Then he launched himself at Sirius, who was nearest, and caught him in a bone-crushing embrace.


	4. Second Summer

The summer returned in all its vengeance, all too soon. Amidst spending the Christmas and Easter holidays at James' house, earning more detentions than he could count, and beginning his, James', and Peter's endeavor to become Animagi, Sirius' second year at Hogwarts sped by even faster than his first, and before he knew it he found himself once again trapped within Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. In dismal contrast, however, the summer seemed to stretch on forever.

Once again, Sirius found solace only in his friends' letters. As each day endured almost past endurance—dull, stifling, tinged with fear—each was punctuated by the longing that separated the arrival of one letter from the next, and the leap of joy that accompanied every subsequent owl. Peter seemed to have grown weary of written correspondence, for Sirius received fewer packages of sweets this year, but James wrote just as often as before, and Remus even more so. So much more so, in fact, that his little owl Apollo became increasingly irritable at the number of times he was now asked to fly between Leicestershire and London.

Sirius did not attempt to redecorate his room as he had last year. He knew his mother would only force him to undo it all. If only he knew how to perform a Permanent Sticking Charm, he'd show her. . . The thought of how it would infuriate her, and how there would be nothing she could do about it, always made him grin.

Most of the time Sirius kept himself locked in his room, and did his best to avoid the other inhabitants of the house. Since Grimmauld Place was a known Wizarding dwelling, he was able to amuse himself magically without getting angry notices from the Ministry, as long as his parents did not find out about it. He had become quite adept at Transfiguration and Charms, and so he whiled away the time transfiguring his quills into centipedes and back again, making his textbooks sprout limbs and attack each other, and producing brightly colored rings of smoke that danced about the room. He also considered hexing Regulus just for fun, but decided that the consequences would be too severe to risk it.

One afternoon in July, a piece of paper slid through the crack beneath Sirius' locked bedroom door. Looking over at it from his bed, Sirius recognized his brother's large, obnoxious handwriting, and he ignored it decidedly—that is, until the note rolled itself up into a ball and started bouncing off the side of his head. With a flick of his wand he turned it into a paper airplane and made it zoom about the room. He was just debating what to have it do next when the door flew open.

In shock and outrage, Sirius whirled around to see Regulus standing in the corridor outside, wearing the new Hogwarts robes he had just gotten from Madam Malkin's.

"I locked that door!"

Regulus merely shrugged, looking annoyingly glum as ever.

"What are you doing here, anyway?" Sirius snapped. "Don't you have Kreacher to play with?"

"Mummy says she put your books on the kitchen table and she wants them picked up before dinner."

"Fine. Is that all?"

Biting his lip, Regulus took a tentative step forward. Then he said, very quietly, "How do you ask?"

"What are you talking about?"

"The hat. The Sorting Hat. How do you ask it?"

Before Sirius could give a scathing reply, Regulus caught sight of his unread message hovering in midair, and he followed it with his eyes as it flew around the room. Sirius noticed where he was looking, and with another flick of his wand the paper airplane burst into flames. Regulus watched it smolder and fall at his feet with a strange expression on his face. For a moment Sirius thought he was going to cry. Then he turned on his heel and left, the door slamming shut of its own accord behind him.

After taking a few minutes to fume irritably, Sirius retrieved his new schoolbooks from the kitchen. He was halfway back up the staircase, and relieved that he had not met anyone along the way, when his mother's voice reverberated, magically magnified, through the house.

"SIRIUS ORION BLACK."

Sirius froze, heart jumping madly. He willed it to shut up, but it ignored him.

"I WANT YOU DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT."

Furious at himself for starting to tremble, Sirius retraced his steps back downstairs. His mother met him on the landing and steered him into the drawing room with nothing but an irate look. She might have been about to spit fire. As she shut the door and began to pace the room before him, Sirius noticed a letter clenched tightly in her fist.

At last she stopped pacing, turned to face him, and spoke. "Why have you done this to me, Sirius?"

Sirius had no idea what he had supposedly done, but knew better than to say anything.

His mother continued. "After what you promised me last year—I thought I had made myself quite clear then. I thought we had come to an understanding. So tell me." Her voice was calm but deadly. "Why do you insist upon disgracing our family?"

Without waiting for an answer, she thrust the letter under Sirius' nose and Sirius, with a thrill of horror, saw that it was from Remus.

 _Dear Sirius,_

 _Apollo refused point-blank to carry another letter to you, so I had to hire an owl from the post office. I hope he reaches you all right—I mean, I know professional post owls are supposed to know what they're doing, but I couldn't help noticing that this one didn't look particularly trustworthy. I haven't_ —

She snatched the letter away again before Sirius could read any further. Instinctively he reached out to take it back, but it was already beyond his grasp. Catching sight of this, his mother's eyes narrowed dangerously. Then she turned towards the door and shouted, "Regulus!"

Almost immediately there came a scuffling sound from directly outside, and the door swung open to reveal Regulus, who had evidently been listening at the keyhole.

"Come in, darling. As you'll be heading off to Hogwarts as well this year, I'd like to make an example of this." She glanced disdainfully at the letter in her hand. "Despite my warnings, despite everything I have tried to teach you two, your brother has decided that he would rather consort with—lesser beings—than honor our values."

Sirius' stomach clenched. _Lesser beings_?

His mother looked at the letter again, then turned it around and pointed at a spot on the parchment. There, written in Remus' clear hand, unmistakably, was the one damning word—

"Werewolf. 'Now that you know I'm a werewolf,'" she quoted, looking back up at Sirius. "I will not have it. Trust Dumbledore to let something like that into a school in the first place. And of course the ministry will cover it all up for him, they worship that mudblood-loving fool," she spat. "Now, I may not be able to control who—or _what_ —you choose to spend your time with while at school, but I will not have you defiling the house of my fathers with this filth. I will not have it. Do you understand?"

The room buzzed with deadly anticipation. Sirius could not extinguish the rage boiling its way through his body, and though he remained paralyzed, rooted to the spot by mounting panic, he refused to allow himself to submit to this.

"I asked you a question, boy," Walburga Black hissed. Sirius noticed the wand in her hand, and realized that something more than mounting panic was keeping him rooted to the spot.

" _Do you understand?_ "

A moment's hesitation. Then: "No." He was being reckless; somewhere a corner of his mind acknowledged this, but the blood pounding in his ears had deafened him to it.

The ire flashed in his mother's eyes like a silver dagger. "'No?'" She snarled. "You will give up your place in this family for those creatures?"

"I won't give up my friends." No sooner had the words escaped his lips than he regretted ever saying them. He knew he had crossed the invisible boundary that had hung over the house since before he was born. There could be no taking it back, and he knew he would pay dearly for his impulsiveness.

"Very well."

Despite knowing full well what was to come, a fresh wave of panic surged over Sirius when he saw her heading for the grate.

"No. Please—"

"I can only hope that in the future you will come to recognize your mistake. In the meantime," she said, tossing the letter into the fire, "you will know the consequences."

Unable to move, fighting back tears, Sirius watched Remus' handwriting burn and curl into ash. Walburga flicked her wand, and Sirius' right hand—his wand hand, his quill hand—clenched shut of its own accord.

"I will not have it," she repeated. "Go to your room."

That evening at dinner, not a word was spoken. Sirius hardly touched his food, and avoided looking at anyone. He was not the only one: Regulus had not even bothered to pick up his fork. From the muffled sound of his incessant sniffling, he had apparently fallen victim to a tongue-tying curse. Sirius didn't bother to ask what his brother had done to deserve such a punishment, and he was too absorbed in his own predicament to care.

/ / /

Walburga went even a step further and magically locked Sirius' bedroom window, so that he was now incapable not only of responding to his friends' letters but of receiving them at all. As days turned into weeks, his frustration only grew. Last summer, all that had kept him from going mad had been James' and Remus' letters, and Peter's boxes of sweets. Now—without them—he felt as if he was hanging over a precipice. If this continued much longer, he would either resort to something dreadful or revert back to being his family's puppet. He decided he would rather go to Azkaban for the rest of his life than abide the latter.

Every so often Sirius would hear an owl tapping on the glass outside. They each made a valiant effort to reach him, but all ultimately gave up and headed for the drawing room instead, landing right in his mother's clutches. Sirius tried every spell he could think of—even some he had not yet learned in school—but his left-handed spellwork was always clumsy, and the window did not budge. Since then he had taken to throwing something at it every time he reentered his room, but that did not work either.

By August, Sirius was at his wit's end. He avoided his family at all costs and remained shut up in his room as much as possible, emerging only to use the bathroom and sneak food from the kitchen. Usually he was able to steer clear of Kreacher as well. When he arrived in the kitchen to find the house-elf making for the fireplace with a stack of letters, however, he dropped all pretense of secrecy.

" _Stop!_ "

Kreacher froze. "The boy has given Kreacher an order, but Kreacher must not obey, Kreacher must obey his mistress first…"

"Give me those letters."

"…Oh how disappointed she is…"

"Kreacher! I order you to give me those letters!"

Kreacher's face contorted in pain from disobeying Sirius' command. Nevertheless, he remained intent upon his cause. "Kreacher must not," he croaked. "Kreacher must not give Master Sirius the letters, Kreacher must burn them like his mistress said, and keep Master Sirius away from them, no matter what he may order Kreacher to do."

As he started toward the fireplace once again, Sirius lunged at him. They fell to the floor in a heap, and the letters flew out of Kreacher's grasp. Sirius tried to reach for them in the struggle, but Kreacher snapped his finger and the parchment burst into flames. Sirius caught glimpses of Remus' and James' handwriting as each page was consumed, but there was nothing he could do about it.

 _Dear Sirius, I hope you're not angry at me. Only you never responded to my last—_

 _Dear Sirius, We're all getting worried. Remus says—_

 _Dear Sirius, Are you all right? James hasn't heard from you either and—_

 _Sirius! Mate. Siriusly (haha). No but actually seriously mate, what's going on?—_

 _Sirius, Please write us back as soon as possible. James was saying he'll fly to London personally if you keep—_

And then they were gone. It took Sirius a moment to notice the hot tears pouring down his face.

"Master Sirius must return to his room now," Kreacher said firmly. "Mistress said he ought to stay there, the ungrateful brat." He took hold of Sirius' wrist, turning on the spot with a _crack_. They emerged from the stifling medium of apparition in Sirius' room, and with another loud _crack_ , Kreacher had gone again.

Sirius was bursting at the seams. He could not contain himself, even if he had wanted to. He overturned his desk, and tore down his curtains. He threw everything he could lay a hand on. He smashed his inkbottles and ripped apart his textbooks. And when he screamed, he could feel the magic exploding from his body in one tremendous blast. The curse on his right hand was broken almost instantly. Then there came a deafening crash as all the windows in the house shattered.


End file.
